


It's A Nice Day (For A White Wedding)

by Liviapenn



Category: White Christmas (1954)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Matchmaking, Post-Movie, Shenanigans, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-23
Updated: 2008-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Make 'em squirm a little before everything comes out all right in the final act? Baby, you shouldn't be a singer-- you should be writing musicals!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Nice Day (For A White Wedding)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rina](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rina).



> Thanks to Sab and Sarah T. for encouragement, and Kristin for last-minute beta.
> 
> This story goes slightly AU before the end of the movie, after Bob appears on the Ed Harrison Show.

Betty took five minutes to wash off her heavy stage makeup, leave her gorgeous black velvet dress draped over a chair, and pull her traveling outfit on again. Gloves, coat, boots-- Betty felt as though she'd barely arrived, and now she was leaving again. She didn't bother with a hat or scarf, just rushed out into the street. There had to be a way for her to catch Bob before he left New York. She stepped off the curb, waving frantically for a taxi.

"Oh, Betty!" Dick called after her, and Betty jumped. She'd forgotten, but of course she'd signed a contract, and she had obligations. And running out on your obligations was hardly a grand way to start your solo career.

She turned. "Dick, I'm so sorry. I'm really so sorry, but I just have to--"

"Don't give it another thought," Dick said, and grinned. "I saw the way you were looking at ol' Wallace on that tv screen. I suppose you're headed to the train station... well, just call the club from there and give Janie your address, and I'll have her send along your bags."

Betty pressed a hand to her mouth until she felt able to speak. "Thank you. Oh, thank you."

"And maybe the next time you're in town," he continued, "you can come on back and sing _Blue Skies_. Because I'll tell you, Betty, you look like you could do it justice."

"Believe it or not, right now I think I could," Betty said, and then finally, finally a taxi pulled up to the curb.

"Where to, miss?"

"The train station," Betty told him, "and step on it!"

"Tell Mr. Wallace I said hello!" Dick called after her as the taxi pulled away.

* * *

The reunion was in full swing, at least aboard the Streamliner Rail train from New York to Vermont. Perhaps it was the same car that Bob had shared with Betty and the others, and perhaps it wasn't. But every step he took down its gently swaying white halls reminded him of that night-- oh, all four of them had been there, chattering and laughing and singing, but it had been Betty who'd captured his eye from the very first moment.

Bob sighed and tried not to think about it. He'd write her a letter, he decided. That would be the best way to sort things out. He'd be able to say everything he wanted to say, and she'd be able to read it at her convenience, without any worry about being interrupted or running out of time. And maybe sometime after New Years', Bob would be able to get back to New York and see her in person, and ask for another chance. He didn't want to keep pushing himself on Betty if his attentions were truly unwelcome, but he'd hardly gotten a fair shake this evening, had he? The way he'd had to rush out like that, in order to make it to Ed's studio on time...

"Hey, Bob-- that was some show this evening!" said an old familiar face, one that was leading a small crowd of boisterous men towards the dining car. Bob shook hands and slapped backs until the tide passed him by, then stood in the corridor for a while. Finally he found himself drifting back towards the dining car himself. Maybe he could stay up all night writing sad Christmas songs that no one would ever want to hear. Or maybe it wasn't too late to get the barman to mix him up a highball. It was going to be a long trip back to Vermont.

He stepped into the dining car, and stopped in his tracks.

"Hi," Betty said. She looked nervous and defensive, she wasn't wearing a stitch of makeup, and her drab traveling dress was creased and spotted with rain. She was the most gorgeous thing Bob had ever seen.

After a while, he remembered that he was supposed to say something. "...Hi."

"I'll tell you something, running back and forth like this takes it out of a gal," Betty said. "I've probably used up more shoe leather in the last week than Ginger Rogers in _It Had To Be You_."

"I didn't see that one," Bob said carefully.

"Don't worry," Betty told him. She smiled. "It's got a happy ending."

* * *

"Now, Bob, I'll explain everything-- but you mustn't be angry at Emma," was the first thing Betty said as Bob pulled her into a semi-private booth in the corner.

"What does Emma have to do with all this?" Bob didn't understand why Betty had run off to New York in the first place, but to be quite honest, he didn't really care. She was coming back!

"Well, it's just-- she was listening in on the phone when you called Ed Harrison. And she heard-- Well, she must have been mistaken, obviously, but she had the wrong idea completely about what you were going to do, and why. And I thought-- Oh, Bob." Betty turned away as best she could in the confined space, facing the wall. "I'm so ashamed I could just die."

Bob blinked, reaching across the table to take Betty's hands in his. "Oh," he said, thinking back to that conversation with Ed. He'd gotten it straightened out in the end, but he could easily see how someone might have gotten the wrong impression. "Oh, I see."

"I feel like a yo-yo on a string-- Vermont to New York, New York to Vermont," Betty said. "And the worst part is I don't even know if you'll still want me to come back, now that you know what a fool I've been."

Well, Bob thought. Phil always liked to tell people-- women, mostly-- that he didn't know how it was possible for Bob to write one romantic song after another, year after year, and never learn a single thing from any of them. Well, the rhythm of the train was almost as good as a drumbeat, and the way Betty's shoulders swayed back and forth as the car rocked its way down the tracks towards Vermont was almost as good as if it had been choreographed. Who needed lyrics when you had music like this?

Bob let go of Betty's hands and took her by the shoulders. Steadying himself, he leaned across the table and kissed her, right on that proud, trembling mouth.

"How is it," he said, sitting down again, "that I can reel out a romantic song for a Kansas farmboy, a traveling salesman or the King of Siam-- but I've got no idea what to say to you right now? Except that I'd have to be an idiot not to want you back. Of course I want you to come back. Betty," he said, lowering his voice. "I can't promise much right now. Wallace & Davis are near flat broke--"

"I wasn't planning on hitching my star to Wallace _and_ Davis," Betty said, getting back a little of her usual tartness, but Bob was on a roll.

"I work too much, I never get enough sleep, I bite people's heads off when I'm tired and then I bang on the typewriter at all hours of the night and day. But if that sounds all right to you--"

"It sounds fine to me. In fact, I think it's right in my range." Betty reached out, wrapping one hand around the back of Bob's neck, pulling him close. "But maybe you ought to hum a few bars. Let's be sure."

"Oh, sure," Bob said, and kissed her again.

* * *

"If only we didn't have to tell Phil," Bob said after some time.

"Why not?" Betty laughed, digging in her purse for a handkerchief.

"Oh, you know. That stunt he and Judy pulled-- pretending to be engaged! They came clean after you left, but with you back, dollars to donuts Phil will chalk it up as a win. It'll only encourage him!" Bob shook his head. "He calls himself the idea man of Wallace and Davis, you know. Every time I'm fine with the way things are going, it's-- Bob, what about this. Bob, what about that. You've got to think _creatively_ , Bob--"

Betty smiled quickly, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "Judy comes up with some doozies herself."

"Playing angles, yeah." Bob said, and Betty's eyes flicked up to his. When their gazes met, they both laughed. "I'm beginning to think those two deserve each other," Bob continued. "And you know, they may actually get what they deserve?"

Betty blinked. "You mean--"

"Well, I don't know," Bob said, "but you didn't see them when they came to tell me their engagement was phony. Poor kids looked like someone just told them Santa wasn't real."

"Well, how about _that_ ," Betty said. "You know..." Her mouth quirked into a crooked smile, and Bob couldn't help but smile along, even though he had no idea why.

"What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Well, what if we didn't tell them?" Betty said, tapping the table sharply. "Maybe I'm talking nonsense, but why should we have to? What if we said that you came to the Carousel Club and convinced me to come back for the good of the show, and maybe also because you felt badly about Phil and Judy's trick. As for the rest, it's nobody else's business but ours. For now, that is."

Bob grinned. "Make 'em squirm a little, before everything comes out all right in the final act? Baby, you shouldn't be a singer-- you should be writing musicals!"

"Maybe it's silly," Betty said, but Bob shook his head.

"No," he said, "I think it sounds fine. Like you said, there's no reason this should be a Wallace & Davis production."

"And what about Emma?" Betty asked.

Bob sighed. "I can't even stay mad at Louella Parsons; how am I going to stay mad at Emma Allen of Pine Tree, Vermont? You're coming back. That's all that matters."

* * *

It was easier than Betty would have thought to fool everybody. Maybe she'd been wrong about all those silly musicals; she'd always thought the plots were so unlikely. Maybe they weren't so terribly unlikely after all. Judy had certainly seemed startled to see Betty backstage, being tugged and tucked into her costume for the first act as if nothing had happened. But they hadn't had time for more than a hug and a few words before the curtain was going up, and then there was hardly even time to think. Betty had expected Judy to sit down and try to cross-examine her before they went to sleep that night, but after a late, late dinner in the kitchen, with everybody reeling like they hadn't slept in weeks, Judy fell into bed and slept like a dead girl.

The next morning the whole cast and crew woke up and did it all again: a full run-through, with Bob and Phil dashing back and forth between the front row, the main stage, and the piano set off to the side. Every time one of them popped out of their seat, they added another detail to the list of the million or so things about the show that weren't _quite_ perfect enough.

Betty understood Bob's perfectionist urges, but for her part, she thought the first night had gone just fine. They'd even opened on time, which the old hands claimed could only be a Christmas miracle. And maybe it was-- that and the snow, which had started coming down at just the right moment, as if it had been doing Wallace & Davis a personal favor. And it just kept on falling for days on end, drifting and swirling in deep white waves around the fenceposts and the bungalows and the lodge. Everything turned white, and the radiators in the cabins kicked in with a cough and a bang. It was hotter sometimes inside Betty's cabin now than it had been before the snow arrived. She would have kept a window open if the wind hadn't been so changeable; sometimes it would swirl unexpectedly, blowing a big cloud of fluffy flakes right inside the cabin.

But not even the snow did all that much to keep Betty cooled off. Especially not the day before yesterday, when the General had asked Bob if he'd mind going out to one of the old storage sheds and looking for some antique sleigh runners. Betty had gone with him, of course-- and then, somehow, they'd gotten locked in for almost an hour.

In one of Bob's musicals, there would have been a strategic curtain at some point while they sat there waiting for someone to come close enough to hear Bob yell to be let out. But in reality, there wasn't really much you could do in a cold, old storage shed, with the wind whistling around your ears and snow drifting in through the cracks.

Still... and Betty smiled at the thought of it... Bob had kept her pretty warm. Of course when Phil had finally come looking, they had stuffed their hands back into their respective gloves and wrapped their scarves back around their respective necks, and gone right back to their pretense of strained tolerance and faint irritation. And maybe Betty was just a frustrated actress underneath it all, but she was pretty darned good at it, if she did say so herself.

And even better than that-- it was _fun_.

* * *

Bob felt the same way. It was more fun than he'd had in ages, sneaking around and stealing minutes to spend with Betty. Right under everyone's noses, too. He'd never done anything like it before, not even when he _was_ a kid. It made every moment of every day just a little suspenseful, just a bit thrilling. When he turned a corner or opened a door, he never knew whether Betty would be there, lurking behind a pillar or a post with that kiss-me-quick look in her eyes.

One afternoon, just after New Years', he found himself being pulled into a cramped space between two pine trees, just out back of Betty and Judy's cabin. The scent of wet pine needles was crisp and fresh in the air, and the snowflakes were falling so heavily around them that even the main lodge was just a fuzzy shape in the distance.

"Betty, we're in public!" Bob said, pretending to be shocked, and then he gave in and pulled her close.

They kissed for a long while, until the blowing snow built up on their coats, scarves and hats. When Betty pulled back, she applied herself to brushing Bob off, and he applied himself to brushing _her_ off, and somehow that led back to kissing...

"Oh, Bob," Betty murmured after a while. Her eyes were sparkling. "If you'd like to move inside... Judy went out on a day trip with some of the other girls. She's going to be gone for hours."

"Oh," Bob said, and he would have been lying if he said he hadn't thought about it. That was one of the benefits of _not_ being a kid any more, wasn't it? There was more to a relationship between a man and a woman than holding hands and rubbing noses. "Wow."

"Hey, don't tell me you've never been alone with a girl in her cabin before," Betty said. "If you're not sure you remember the steps, I could walk you through it."

"Well, sure, I just..."

"Do you not-- want to?" Betty blinked.

"No, it's not that! I want to. Believe me, I do." Bob curled his arms around her waist, pulling her flat up against him. "But I-- Well."

"What is it?"

"I want you to marry me," Bob blurted. He could have kicked himself. He hadn't gotten down on one knee-- he didn't even have a ring with him. What a mish-mosh. "Sorry for the impromptu nature of the proposal, but you know I'm no good at all that romantic nonsense." He grinned.

"Oh? Yesterday afternoon I saw you come up with a whole new second act full of romantic nonsense, right off the top of your head," Betty teased, and Bob relaxed a bit. "And with musical accompaniment, too!"

"Well, that's different. That's show biz. And, hey..."

"Yes," Betty said. "Yes, yes, of course. Not right away--"

"No, of course, not right away," Bob agreed. In that moment, he would have agreed to anything. He would have agreed if Betty had wanted to be married riding on the back of an elephant.

"But-- maybe when the show closes for summer," Betty said tentatively, and Bob grinned.

"Sounds good to me."

"Well, good," Betty said. She was clearly trying to sound businesslike, but her smile could have lit up Broadway from one end to the other. "Now that _that's_ settled-- about this whole 'but you're the girl I'm going to marry' thing."

Bob shrugged, sheepishly. "Call me a romantic..."

"This is my fault for feeding you that white knight line, isn't it?"

"Summer is a long time away," Bob admitted, stamping his feet a bit to keep them from freezing.

"Well, you know," Betty said, raising her eyebrows in a significant manner, "once, at summer camp? One of the older girls told me that as long as you keep one of your feet on the floor, it doesn't count."

"One of your feet and one of his feet, or just one of yours?"

"I believe, for best results, one of each."

Bob considered that. "Now, do you have to keep your shoes on, or--?"

"Would you please come inside before I push you in a snowbank and leave you there?"

"All right, all right," Bob murmured in her ear. "You talked me into it." He slung an arm around Betty's waist. "It is getting a bit nippy out here."

"I hadn't noticed," Betty said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

They went inside.

* * *

For the last week and a half, Emma Allen had been on top of the world, except for one little black cloud, hovering right over her head. If she hadn't already kissed both Bob Wallace and Phil Davis, they would have a kiss right on the mouth coming to the both of them, and that was only God's honest truth. The Columbia Inn was busier than it had been in years. Ever since Bob and Phil, bless their souls, had arrived in Pine Tree-- well, it was like the whole world had turned itself upside down. Just in the past few days, Emma had hired four new maids and three more kitchen workers, and she was considering taking on a part-time girl in order to help answer all the letters of inquiry that were pouring in from people all over the country.

Standing behind the front desk in a brand new blue dress, Emma licked a stamp and pressed it down firmly on an envelope. Those brochures she'd convinced the General to print up a few months ago were coming in handy now, weren't they? From New York and Dallas and San Francisco and just everyplace. People wanted to know more about the Columbia Inn.

And that was where the little black cloud came into it. They owed it all to Wallace & Davis, and oh, it just killed Emma when she thought of how she'd almost ruined things between Bob and Betty. She'd only done what she thought was right at the time; it was a man's world, and women had to stick together, didn't they? No one could fault her for that. She'd owed it to Betty to tell her the truth.

And you could certainly tell that Bob was a gentleman, Emma thought as she addressed another envelope-- even if he was in show business. He hadn't held a grudge against her for her mistake, not for a minute. It only made Emma more determined to fix what she'd done. It had been a campaign worthy of the General himself, the way Emma had dropped a hint into General Waverly's ear about those old sleigh runners, and then locked Bob and Betty into the shed when they went to investigate. Oh, she would have let them out in an hour or so if nobody had happened by. But she'd thought that surely that would be enough time for them to clear the air.

Well, it didn't seem to have been, but Emma wasn't giving up. She licked another stamp and slammed it down squarely. Emma was a busybody, a pushy old broad and a matchmaker from way, way back, and she had never seen a couple as clearly meant for each other-- or as clearly determined to deny it!-- than Bob Wallace and Betty Haynes.

Maybe tonight would be the night they'd finally break. Emma had arranged for Phil and Judy to be away from the lodge, on a ski trip-- not that those two needed any pushing, oh no. And she'd nudged the General to invite Bob and Betty to have dinner with him in one of the private dining rooms. At some point, certainly there would be an incident that required the General's presence elsewhere. Emma could almost guarantee it.

Add in Emma's famous cowslip wine along with dinner, and Bob and Betty wouldn't know what hit them.

One way or another, she was going to get those two together. And they'd thank her for it. Eventually.

Emma could hardly wait.

(the end)


End file.
